be of such short duration!

The lord of Ringstetten experienced this; but whether for his good,
we shall discover in the sequel of this history. At first he could
do nothing but weep--weep as bitterly as the poor gentle Undine had
wept when he snatched out of her hand that brilliant ornament, with
which she so kindly wished to make amends for Bertalda's loss. And
then he stretched his hand out, as she had done, and wept again like
her, with renewed violence. He cherished a secret hope, that even
the springs of life would at last become exhausted by weeping. And
has not the like thought passed through the minds of many of us with
a painful pleasure in times of sore affliction? Bertalda wept with
him; and they lived together a long while at the castle of
Ringstetten in undisturbed quiet, honouring the memory of Undine, and
having almost wholly forgotten their former attachment. And
therefore the good Undine, about this time, often visited Huldbrand's
dreams: she soothed him with soft and affectionate caresses, and then
went away again, weeping in silence; so that when he awoke, he
sometimes knew not how his cheeks came to be so wet--whether it was
caused by her tears, or only by his own.

But as time advanced, these visions became less frequent, and the
sorrow of the knight less keen; still he might never, perhaps, have
entertained any other wish than thus quietly to think of Undine, and
to speak of her, had not the old fisherman arrived unexpectedly at
the castle, and earnestly insisted on Bertalda's returning with him
as his child. He had received information of Undine's disappearance;
and he was not willing to allow Bertalda to continue longer at the
castle with the widowed knight. "For," said he, "whether my daughter
loves me or not is at present what I care not to know; but her good